Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

by Patrick Weekes

  “Renke was starving,” the werewolf snarled. “I answered.”

  “What are you?” Evka shouted.

  “Hunger,” Antoine said.

  Before Evka could react, Renke charged forward and grabbed the ax’s handle in his jaws. With a twist of his head, both dwarf and weapon were sailing across the room. Evka heard a crack as she hit the wall. A rotting support beam swung loose, pinning her down.

  * * *

  “Evka!” Antoine yelled. He tried to run to her, but the werewolf whipped around and pinned Antoine to the ground with its massive bulk. Even through his leather overcoat, the beast’s dark claws drove into his shoulders, threatening to break the skin. He wasn’t sure if that was enough for the curse to set in. He didn’t want to find out.

  “So, you can guess a name.”

  Antoine’s head ached as the demon possessing Renke tried to access his thoughts. When the darkspawn song was in his head, it sang of a death in his future. The demon grasped at the one in his past.

  “Ah yes. You have hungered. When you were dying … what did that feel like…”

  It burned and he couldn’t think straight. It felt like nothing and that was just as bad …

  “That’s over,” Antoine said. He focused on the memory of Evka’s voice telling him what had happened. He was a Warden now. A hero.

  The demon laughed. “Did you think you’d escaped?”

  Antoine struggled beneath Renke’s paws. He needed a way out. He needed a plan …

  “What you have’s not what you thought, is it? You’re deprived the admiration. The heroics.”

  No, that wasn’t right. That’s not what this was about. Antoine tried to shift his arms beneath the werewolf’s weight.

  It’s not what it was supposed to be about.

  “Would they sate you?”

  Antoine’s fingers brushed the end of his bow but it was out of reach. That wasn’t going to work.

  “You will join me. You will devour what you thought to save.”

  Antoine’s other hand knocked one of the silver cylinders loose from his belt. It rolled across the uneven Chantry floor with a small plinking noise. He reached again, his hand closing around glass …

  Renke lowered a tooth-filled jaw to Antoine’s ear. “Tell me, elf, are you hungry?”

  * * *

  Evka pushed herself free of the beam, grabbed her ax, and ran toward Antoine. The werewolf reared back, its jaws open. She wasn’t going to make it. Antoine twisted sideways, one arm flailing upward.

  Renke’s jaw snapped shut.

  And the Chantry filled with a dark, billowing smoke.

  Renke roared.

  “What—” Evka said, startled.

  “It’s a distraction!” She heard an arrow pierce flesh at close range. Renke howled again.

  “That’s not a warning!” Evka said.

  Through the trailing ends of the smoke, they could see the werewolf take off. By the time the fog cleared, it was gone.

  * * *

  “We’ll think of a plan,” Antoine said for the third time.

  The Wardens were in the inn’s dining room with Verschel, Mina, and several other villagers who’d come for news of the Wardens’ success—or lack thereof.

  “We were holding Renke for the king’s justice, bastard got away,” Verschel said. “With the snows, we figured running him out was just as good. Figured him dead.”

  “He nearly was,” Antoine replied. “But something found him.”

  “I thought you were going to kill werewolves or die trying. You failed at both,” said the candlemaker. There were nods of agreement.

  “If you want to borrow my ax, I’ll give you a turn at it,” Evka said. The candlemaker pursed her lips but said nothing.

  “We’ll think of a plan.” Antoine said for the fourth time, then turned for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Evka asked.

  “To check on Willem,” he said. He couldn’t stay there. He needed to do something.

  Antoine could hear the inhuman growling coming from the stable before he went inside. Willem paced back and forth on all fours, snarling and frothing at the mouth, stopping only to pull against the thick chains that were just strong enough to hold him.

  “Willem, if there’s anything else you can tell us…” Antoine said.

  “Antoine.” Evka had followed him. Mina hovered in the doorway, refusing to cross over the entrance. Antoine ignored them.

  “Even a word. We just need to stop him.”

  But the werewolf was past the point of gentle words and a friendly smile.

  “You tried,” Mina said, but she sounded like everyone else in Eichweill—unimpressed, unenthused. She walked away, tears running down her face.

  Antoine didn’t move from the stable door. “I’m still trying.”

  Willem leapt for the door—or more likely for Antoine himself. Antoine jumped back, startled, while the chains yanked Willem down in the opposite direction. They wouldn’t hold forever.

  Evka touched Antoine lightly on the arm. He didn’t want to think about what happened to Willem now. He turned without looking at her and left the stable, stalking back to the main street. His eyes darted to the buildings, down side paths, his fingers twitching, his mind working. He came to the well and stopped. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  What you have’s not what you thought, is it?

  Even when it wasn’t in his head, it was in his head. He kicked the well in frustration.

  “You regret that, don’t you?” Evka said lightly.

  Antoine laughed despite himself. “Yes.” He tapped his foot gingerly on the ground a few times, then sank down and sat with his back to the well, staring at the boarded-up Renke house.

  “I should have died,” he said finally.

  “I’ve pointed that out,” Evka said.

  “I didn’t want to. If a demon had found me, would I…” He gestured at Renke’s house.

  “It didn’t,” Evka said. “So, it doesn’t matter.”

  “I woke up with a second chance. If I don’t do everything with it, what’s the point?”

  Would that sate you?

  Antoine’s fingers twitched. He tried again: “If what I do with it isn’t … Maybe I’m not…” But he didn’t know how to finish the thought.

  Evka sat down next to Antoine. “Here’s what I know about being a Grey Warden: You fight the worst monsters in Thedas, most people don’t notice, and then you do it again. We’ve got a thankless village, a werewolf we’ve barely been able to hit—”

  “A demon that can get in my head,” Antoine offered.

  “And that. That’s what Wardens do. We take all of that and handle it. Because someone has to. You’re a Warden because everything that could go wrong has and you’re still here.” She punched him gently on the shoulder and smiled. “All we need is a plan.”

  All he wanted was to sit at the well with her a little longer. But there was work to do. They needed a plan. He jumped to his feet, took a few steps toward Renke’s house and then back to the well. They had a thankless village, a werewolf they’d barely been able to hit …

  “Do you have a plan?” Evka asked.

  “Not a good one,” Antoine said.

  “It’s a start.”

  Antoine grinned.

  * * *

  Evka stood alone by the well.

  It was dark. The moon was the thinnest curl it could be, but at least it was out. Behind her lights flickered in the Renke house. She let out a slow breath.

  She could hear Willem start to howl, his transformed cries carrying from the direction of the inn.

  And they were answered.

  Evka gripped her ax a little tighter. “Renke!” she yelled.

  There was a moment of silence. Then the voice came out of the shadows. “Waiting for me?”

  There was no other sound except Willem’s howling. They’d killed three werewolves in the woods and faced Renke alone in the Chantry. “Just you?” she s
aid casually.

  “Not for long,” Renke replied.

  Alone for now, then. That was one thing in their favor. Maybe. Evka had a feeling it only made Renke more dangerous.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  “I don’t like the way you talk to him,” she said.

  Renke’s cold laughter was cut off by the bang of a shutter behind her. When the voice spoke again, it had lost some of its echo. “That’s mine.”

  “You count on them being separated. We can’t guard everywhere at once. One house—I can watch that.” She glanced behind her at the flickering lights, the shadows moving behind the shutters. Evka smiled at Renke. “No one was using this one.”

  “It’s mine!” Renke yelled. The beast erupted from the shadows and crossed the distance between them in a few long strides.

  Evka couldn’t hope to be faster than the werewolf, but she’d fought this one already. Before the words were out of its mouth, she’d rolled to the side and struck out with her ax. Renke dodged, but Evka already had a knife in her hand.

  Evka whipped the knife hard and was met with a satisfying yowl as it sunk deep into Renke’s shoulder. It wasn’t enough to stop the beast—she didn’t know what that would take—but she took advantage of the wolf’s momentary pain to run clear of its thrashing and place herself between it and the front door.

  “You want to protect these people. You’ve gathered them for a feast,” Renke’s voice reverberated.

  Evka stood her ground and waited. If she was right, the beast would charge …

  And it did. Evka held her position as the werewolf raced forward, claws and teeth ready to tear through the dwarf in its way. At the last moment, Evka ducked and rolled to the side. The werewolf slammed past her and through the front door …

  * * *

  Antoine watched from the stairs as a storm of splinters burst inward, followed by Renke. The beast’s eyes shone and saliva foamed from its jaws, dripping to the worn floorboards. It snapped a chair in half and hurled the broken pieces across the room before blinking, confusion starting to show on its contorted face.

  A fire burned in the fireplace. Lanterns flickered against the walls casting shadows through the room. Especially when Antoine tugged on the rope attached to them.

  “What is this?” the werewolf snarled.

  “A trap,” Antoine said.

  The villagers didn’t like the Wardens, but after the disastrous patrol, they were willing to darken their houses and stay out of sight. It wasn’t much—but it was all they needed. He tugged on the lanterns again. “Did it work?”

  The werewolf howled as Evka raced through the door and sunk her ax into its hind leg.

  Inside the Renke house, there were no shadows for the werewolf to hide in, no room for the beast to run from the range of Evka’s ax. She sliced at its legs, its shoulders, its ribs. While Renke crashed and twisted to fight, Evka ducked and moved around it. From his place on the stairs, Antoine fired down on the thrashing monster.

  The beast was bleeding and there was a ragged sound to its breathing. They had it …

  Until they didn’t.

  With a swiftness that suggested it wasn’t as injured as they’d thought, the werewolf hurled itself at Evka, knocking her into the stone fireplace. She gasped as the air escaped her lungs. Before she could draw another breath, Renke grabbed her and slammed her to the ground. Antoine fired an arrow, but the beast shrugged it off. A ropy string of drool oozed down onto Evka’s face.

  Then a sweet roll smacked the werewolf in the head.

  “Renke,” Antoine said. “Are you hungry?”

  Renke twisted and ran for the stairs faster than Antoine had expected. He scrambled backward and launched himself into the upper hallway, the werewolf chasing after. Antoine ran a few paces, then threw himself sideways through an open door, barely avoiding Renke as the monster barreled down the hall.

  Antoine found himself in a dusty bedroom. His fingers twitched: modest size, no exits except for the hall and a window that faced the main road. He was cornered.

  Throwing the sweet roll hadn’t been much of a plan, but it had worked. Now he needed another one—and he didn’t have a lot of time to think.

  The monster that was Renke stood in the doorway. It howled—an awful empty moaning sound—then stood and walked forward with an unnatural, halting gait.

  “Another chance and this life could be even better. You can taste it.”

  “No,” Antoine said. He could hear the truth in the words. But he was a Warden. His job was to handle it anyway.

  He raised his bow, but Renke was too close. The werewolf knocked the weapon aside before Antoine could level it and grabbed the elf by the throat.

  That was another thing Wardens did—they died fighting the monster.

  But Renke didn’t want him dead.

  The werewolf tightened its clawed hand and Antoine felt the skin break. Blood trickled down his neck. “You’ll devour all those fools who didn’t care. After you gnaw on the dwarf’s bones.”

  “You’re wrong,” Antoine said.

  Renke flicked a pointed ear back. “There she is now.”

  Evka stood in the doorway, ax ready.

  But she was too late.

  Renke sunk his teeth into Antoine’s shoulder. Antoine screamed.

  With a satisfied smile, Renke dropped the elf on the floor.

  “You’re dead,” Evka said.

  “Evka—” Antoine said. As heroic as dying facing monsters sounded, he didn’t want to die.

  “Not you,” Evka said.

  He reached for the pouches at his waist.

  “Evka—distraction!”

  Evka was already moving as the room filled with white sparks, the light blinding in the small space.

  Renke snarled, then screamed as Evka’s ax sank deep into its back. Antoine barely managed to throw himself out of the way as the monster lurched forward.

  Evka let go of the ax handle and jumped to the bed. Planting a foot firmly on the mattress, she leaped upward. As she came down, she drove her last knife into Renke.

  The beast’s final howl was cut short as Evka drew the blade along its throat. As she finished, Antoine pulled himself up and kicked Renke with all the strength he had left.

  The beast stumbled forward and crashed through the window.

  It hit the ground below with a sickening crack.

  Evka was blinking hard. “I thought you were going to use the vials.”

  “He knew that one already.”

  “It’s only a warning if I know what you’re warning me about.” Evka blinked again, then gave Antoine a look. “You almost died. Stop laughing when I say that.”

  He grinned. He hadn’t died—they hadn’t died. They had beaten a werewolf and Antoine was still breathing. And Evka was standing very close to him.

  “We should…”

  “Make sure it’s dead?”

  Antoine touched his shoulder where Renke had bitten him. Ending the night as a werewolf was not how it was supposed to work.

  A small crowd was cautiously approaching Renke’s former house, drawn by the silence that had followed the battle inside. The werewolf’s eyes were dull and empty, its spine bent at an odd angle. Antoine didn’t know if they’d killed the demon inside or if it had fled. Either way, it appeared to be gone.

  “There’s that done,” Verschel said, giving the beast a sullen kick and watching it flop lifelessly back. He looked at Antoine. “You worked out, then.”

  It was the highest praise they could ask for.

  Mina didn’t say anything. She was running for the inn.

  * * *

  Evka watched as Antoine said goodbye to the people of Eichweill. The villagers were as grudging and unenthusiastic in their thanks as they were about most things, but Antoine smiled as if they’d thrown the Wardens a parade. If there was any doubt of Renke’s curse being gone, the brown-haired boy with wolf-yellow eyes put it to rest. Mina had an arm around the boy’s shoulders and the
pair waved to them as they left.

  “So, we rode into town,” Antoine said.

  “We walked. Because we lost the horses.”

  “Saved the horses. And the village.”

  “To thunderous applause. And it will probably be overrun by locusts when we leave.”

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Weisshaupt Fortress?” she said. “The part of being a Warden where we report where we’re supposed to and get told what to do without being sidetracked.”

  “Bien sȗr—on y va! No detours!” His grin said he didn’t believe the last part. She wasn’t sure she did either.

  * * *

  Small, banished.

  Powerless.

  But if it waited, it would sense the knot that twisted its victim. The weakness that followed. The opening. The longing. And just before the blackness fell, when they would do almost anything, it would whisper …

  Are you hungry?

  MURDER BY DEATH MAGES

  CAITLIN SULLIVAN KELLY

  Damned statues.

  She had always hated them; hated the overexaggerated poses, hated the reminders of impossible achievements constantly hanging over everyone, hated how people worshiped and prayed at what was nothing more than pretty hunks of stone. She hated them when she was young and alone, cowering in alleyways and begging for scraps while other children played with toy swords in the monuments’ shadows, shouting over who got to be which famous dragon hunter. Crowing as they slew imaginary archdemons.

  When she joined the Inquisition, Sidony believed she’d never have to walk the streets of Nevarra City again; never have to see the vacuous nobles waste good coin on frivolity and shallow attempts at dressing the monuments to their ancestors prettier than their rivals could dress theirs. But here she was, pushing through clustered knots of artists and florists and actors bustling about the garish things with enough flowers, candles, and drapes to fill every chantry in Thedas.